09-02-2016, 08:27 PM
Gunsynd
I wanna chain you up I wanna tie you down
The horses the dot the meadow all still carry the scents of their homes. The scents float on the breeze like ghosts, haunting the monster. His usual demeanor has been lost to time. He now resembles something akin to a wet mop, droopy and rather sad, his tangled locks covering the majority of his face as he does not bother to watch where he is going.
And this is what brings the three together, lack of attention. He does not remember them (too much has transpired), but he can smell the tundra’s scent on their pelts and another wave of nausea hits his gut. Were they just as lost as he was? But they had each other, and twins were strange in such a way that as long as they had one another they could care less if the rest of the world burned. He knew, he had had twins once (though they were not quite correct - not quite fully formed).
But these little creatures offered him some distraction from his morose thoughts at the very least, so he focused on them. They did not seem to fear him (the wet mop that he is) so he does not try to intimidate them. The larger of the two speaks, noting the difference to the land. Gunsynd could have laughed at the understatement were he not so sick to his stomach. He could see the filly trying to hold back such a reaction.
“You could say that.” He says gruffly, his voice thick and pained from anxiety. “Where will you two go now that the Tundra is gone?” He asks, almost to himself. Maybe if they had an answer, he could get closer to finding one himself.
I M J U S T A S U C K E R F O R P A I N